


Abnormal Growth

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Crack, M/M, The Spock Cock, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock seeks medical advice over a deformed organ, and somehow winds up with two humans in his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abnormal Growth

**Author's Note:**

> Crack. Weird alien anatomy. Some Spocky angst. Childish behaviour from men who ought to know better. Thanks to the people who offered ideas and prodding for this fic over the five months I've been working on it: [](http://conzieu.livejournal.com/profile)[**conzieu**](http://conzieu.livejournal.com/) and [](http://verizonhorizon.livejournal.com/profile)[**verizonhorizon**](http://verizonhorizon.livejournal.com/) (who probably won't see much hint of their ideas in the finished fic, but whose ideas excited me enough to keep me writing); [](http://diane-kepler.livejournal.com/profile)[**diane_kepler**](http://diane-kepler.livejournal.com/) and [](http://klashfor.livejournal.com/profile)[**klashfor**](http://klashfor.livejournal.com/) (whose discussion got me going writing this); Laura Goodwin (whose [essay](http://allyourtrekarebelongto.us/vulcanpenis.htm) planted the initial idea); and [](http://proudcockatrice.livejournal.com/profile)[proudcockatrice](http://proudcockatrice.livejournal.com/) (who provided three choice Vulcan-language phrases, of which I've used two). **Hover your cursor over the two Vulcan-language phrases in this fic, and you should get the translations popping up.** (There's also a glossary at the end.) Beta'd by [](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/profile)[**ellethill**](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/) (alpha) and [](http://insanekht.livejournal.com/profile)[insanekht](http://insanekht.livejournal.com/).

That the process worries him does not, Spock finds, render it any the less fascinating. He watches and takes measurements with interest despite his misgivings.

As the weeks drag on, however, and the abnormal growth shows no signs of abating, it becomes unpleasantly clear to Spock that he must seek advice from the medical fraternity aboard ship. Lieutenant M’Benga would be his first choice, as Spock is aware that the man interned, briefly, in a healing ward in Spock’s home city of Shi’Kahr. He therefore checks the duty rosters and plans his visit for a period during which the Lieutenant is on duty, Spock is off-duty, and the medical facilities are likely to be experiencing minimal demand. Spock finds he must suppress a small moue of discontent, then, when he arrives in the main medical bay to find no one on duty but Doctor McCoy.

“Why, howdy, Spock. You’re up late. Something I can do for you?”

Not being an especially adroit liar, Spock is unable to invent a pretext to save him from having to respond in a straightforward manner.

“I had intended to speak with Doctor M’Benga.”

“We swapped shifts. He wanted time with his girlfriend. So I’m afraid I’m your man.” He sounds neither pleased nor displeased by this situation, for which Spock is grateful.

“May we speak in greater privacy?”

The doctor puts down the partially-disassembled hypospray mechanism he is apparently engaged in servicing, and scans the empty sickbay facilities. “My office okay?”

“That would be adequate.”

McCoy nods and leads the way.

Spock has seldom visited this location in the past, the last occasion being some fifteen weeks prior, and there have been considerable changes in the interim. But although he is curious, it would be impolite to examine his surroundings closely without permission, so Spock refrains. Doctor McCoy leans against the front of his desk in an attitude Spock believes is meant to connote casualness and thus put him at his ease. The doors swish closed, sealing them safely away from prying ears, and yet it is several seconds before Spock feels able to begin speaking. This hesitation will require meditative reflection at a later time.

“What is the extent of your familiarity with Vulcan physiology, doctor?”

The doctor shifts in his pose and crosses his arms, and Spock understands too late that his remark was liable to cause offence.

“I know enough to treat your average run-of-the-mill life-threatening injuries, Commander, never fear.”

His tone is sufficient to confirm Spock’s impression that he has injured his colleague’s professional pride. He attempts to remedy the situation with a mildly humorous remark.

“Indeed, Doctor, I do take care never to fear. This is sound advice.”

McCoy’s expression changes, and though it does not become an unequivocal smile, Spock believes he has successfully lessened the tension between them.

“There any point offering you a chair?”

“Thank you, Doctor, but seating will not be necessary at this time. I wish to discuss something of a… personal nature. This year’s penis has not ceased growing as expected.”

There is a long silence. Then McCoy scratches his head, staring at a point somewhere beyond Spock’s left shoulder. “Come again?” he says.

Spock feels the need to clarify further. “Ordinarily, growth should have ceased two to three months ago, halted by natural hormonal feedback, with the organ having reached perhaps seven point five centimetres in length at tumescence. This year’s organ has suffered some unusual deformity, and now approaches _twenty_ centimetres in length at tumescence.”

“I think I should sit down for this,” McCoy says, and doesn’t move.

There follows a strained silence of sixty-eight seconds’ duration, after which McCoy visibly shakes himself before focusing his gaze resolutely on Spock’s face. “So, you’re telling me you grow a new penis every year?”

Spock is not entirely surprised that Leonard McCoy’s extensive medical education has not furnished him with sufficient detail on Vulcan reproductive biology; his people, after all, are a secretive group. “Vulcan children are invariably born during the spring, when both water and food are in relative plenty; male genital organs are thus only necessary in the summer so that copulation and conception can occur. Vulcan males drop their penile organs during the cooler months and grow them anew shortly prior to the next breeding season, which is called lok-sval farr. This is a more efficient system than the human arrangement, though less efficient than it might be, given that—” even now, in the light of his people’s plight and the need for all the understanding physicians they can get, and even facing someone who most likely needs to know, these things are profoundly difficult to voice “—given that each adult’s fertile period comes only once every seven years.”

He inspects the human’s face closely for any sign of contempt or other disagreeable emotional response. McCoy merely raises an eyebrow in apparent interest. “And the sort of size you were expecting—that’s normal for Vulcans?”

“Certainly. More than the mass needed to facilitate fertilisation would be a waste of bodily resources, do you not agree?”

McCoy smiles, then, minimally. “Well, now, Spock, that kinda depends on your point of view.” His gaze travels thoughtfully over Spock’s body. “Anyhow, you’re concerned about the size. Is it causing you any discomfort? Is it functioning as it should?”

“I have no complaints about its performance, since it has at present no duties to perform. You will be aware that Vulcans do not urinate through the genital furniture?”

“Of course. Pain?”

“Its interactions with my clothing provoke more than the usual discomfort, and my range of comfortable sleeping positions has been adversely affected, but I feel no discomfort from that region which cannot easily be accounted for.”

McCoy nods, then straightens, circles his desk, takes a tricorder and a more specialised medical scanner from a drawer. “I’m gonna need to take a look at it, you understand.”

“Certainly, Doctor.” This is only to be expected, and Spock schools himself not to betray any hint of his discomfort at the event. He lowers his garments when directed, employs his mental shields against any emotion which might otherwise diffuse across their skin, and does not react visibly to the touch of hands rendered cool and moist by the disinfectant gel the doctor has just applied. The instrument scans, of course, Spock does not feel at all.

“Well,” says McCoy, putting his equipment down and motioning to Spock that he may restore his clothing, “that’s a perfectly healthy Vulcan penis, far as I can figure.” He apportions another dollop of disinfectant onto his palm and resumes his perch against the desk while he rubs his hands absently together to spread the evaporating substance. “It’s not a tumour, there’s no malignancy.” He shrugs. “It’s just a penis. Perhaps you get it from your mother’s side? You know, more human proportions?”

Spock raises a brow. “After twenty-seven annual organs of precisely normal Vulcan configuration? Besides, surely an organ of these proportions would be abnormal even for a human. How could intercourse possibly prove comfortable for a partner with so much unseemly length and girth?”

Doctor McCoy is laughing at him again. Spock will never understand human behaviour.

“Doctor? If you would kindly—”

McCoy waves a hand and manages to stifle his mirth somewhat. “It’s all right, Spock. It’s just that, well, eight inches? That’d be most humans’ idea of just about perfect. Actually, lots of folks’d be even happier with bigger.”

Spock blinks. “You are tugging upon one of my lower limbs.”

McCoy snorts and slaps his thigh.

Spock turns and makes a graceful exit.

He’s almost at the main medbay doors when McCoy catches up and seizes his wrist.

“I’m sorry, Spock. That was… unprofessional.”

“Indeed. Kindly release me.”

McCoy does, but he also sidles around Spock to hit the keypad and seal them into the empty sickbay. “You didn’t let me finish. Just let me say a few things, all right?”

Spock folds his arms and waits.

McCoy sighs out a breath, inhales again. “Look, I was also going to say that your hormone levels for—oh, damn it, I can’t pronounce your Vulcan words worth a damn. Your testosterone-analogue and one or two of its related hormones. The levels are elevated, seriously elevated. Higher than I’ve seen in any Vulcan before. Higher than was recorded in any of your physicals prior to coming aboard. Quick hypothesis, off the top of my head? On Earth, certain animals’ testicle sizes correspond with their promiscuity. So the smaller your balls are, as a species, the more likely it is that you can expect your mates to be faithful, y’see?”

Spock nods, since some response appears to be required according to Terran convention.

McCoy’s enthusiasm for his topic becomes audible. “Humans come out by that measure as _very_ unfaithful animals, by the way, big ol’ balls. Anyway, supposing that penis size in Vulcans corresponds in much the same way? So that maybe, long ago on your planet all the males had big dicks because they were always having to fight each other to be top dog, to get and keep the women. The intimidation factor. And now that you’re here, you’re surrounded by horribly social, sexually adventurous, not-entirely-monogamous-by-nature humans… and maybe your body thinks you’ll have to compete for mates, so it decides to be sure and grow you the biggest damn dick it can manage?”

Spock considers this. “Though colourfully expressed, this idea is not without a kernel of logical merit.”

The doctor bows low, so low that Spock strongly suspects he is being mocked. But then he turns and unlocks the doors once more.

“You come right back if you have any problems. I’m going to run some more tests, see what I can discover. I’ll also see what I can dig up out of the Vulcan medical database—the parts of it that aren’t classified, that is. Could take a while. In the meantime, I’d recommend you enjoy that thing while you’ve got it. Or at least stop worrying about it. But, really, Spock.” There is an odd quality to the doctor’s sudden smile. “There’s folks around here who’d think it a real beauty you got there.”

Spock is so instantly certain that the good doctor includes himself in that last category that he is stymied as to a response. Eventually, he settles for a nod and a polite “good evening” and takes himself off back to his quarters and his meditation mat.

He has a good deal to think about.

***

“It is hormones,” McCoy says, joining Spock uninvited at his table in the mess. He has not brought a meal tray.

“If you are referring to the topic I believe you are referring to, Doctor, I must ask you to be circumspect.”

“Gotcha.” McCoy bends lower over the table, closer to Spock’s plate of fruit cubes. “I found a—well, _study_ is perhaps too fine a word. Done by Klingons. They had a couple Vulcans living with them, oh, about a hundred years back. Unclear from the writing style whether these Vulcans were participant observation researchers or, well, prisoners, but let’s set that aside for now. The Vulcans were in an environment where they ate well, got into bloodthirsty little battles on a regular basis just to maintain their place in the village social structure, and were expected to sample the delights of the local warrior maidens. And all the while, a Klingon scientist made scans and took notes. And these two Vulcans’ male hormone levels were off the charts. And they also reported—anatomical changes. The Klingons were satisfied that the two were related. The write-up ends with a self-congratulatory paragraph about how a good Klingon education can render even a Vulcan equal to the slightest adolescent Klingon warrior.”

Spock chews a pear cube thoughtfully. He can well imagine Klingons and Vulcans of that period interacting in the ways described, and he is familiar with the tone of Klingon scientific papers (he understands that it is easier for a project to attract funding on the Klingon homeworld if it boasts a warlike or imperial element).

“Haven’t been able to get anything useful out of the Vulcan database or the Vulcan medics I know. You might have more luck. As it stands, I propose to do nothing except monitor. Let’s not start seeing trouble where there is none.” His fingers drum a rapid tattoo on the tabletop, suddenly looking somewhat anxious. “About your… other concerns. As your friend and ship-mate, and not in _any way_ as your physician, I would be happy to reassure you in any way necessary that your… area of concern… is not deformed or dysfunctional or unappealing in any way.” He _winks_. “If you catch my drift. I’m on lunch-break now, and off-shift in four hours. You know where to find me after that.” And he rises and exits the mess, whistling tunelessly as he goes.

Spock is 98% confident that he has just been propositioned for one or more sexual encounters. He is uncertain why this prospect does not make him more uncomfortable. Spock resolves to ask the captain for advice.

***

There is a commotion outside Spock’s door. Anticipating that protracted discipline of unruly crew may be in order, he extinguishes his meditation candles before he rises to peer out.

Captain James T. Kirk and Doctor Leonard McCoy are standing on his doorstep, jostling each other as though each attempting to be the first in line to enter Spock’s quarters.

“You told _him_?” blurts McCoy.

“ _I’m_ his best friend,” Kirk says smugly.

McCoy mutters something in response. Spock believes it is “Yeah, well, I saw it first.”

“Gentlemen. Is there a problem?”

Immediately, the two men still.

“I invited you over,” says McCoy.

“So did I,” says Kirk.

Spock has a sudden flash of recollection: his mother performing the gesture known as an “eye-roll”. He briefly laments that he never learned to replicate this action. “Both invitations were open-ended. Neither of you had the right to expect my arrival. Since a choice could not be made by any logical method, I chose instead to ignore both invitations. Therefore, you cannot feel that I have chosen one of you in preference to the other.”

Leonard McCoy, apparently, _can_ perform the eye-roll. “You know what else might be logical? Letting us the fuck in so we can explain how a threesome works.”

Kirk turns a look on his friend which Spock does not believe he can rightly identify, having never seen it before. “Gee, Bones, I’m impressed. Such tact!”

“Wiseguy,” McCoy mutters, and aims a feeble blow at Kirk’s triceps.

“Come on, Spock, people are _staring_.”

Spock is aware of no people staring—indeed, the corridors are unusually empty—but he _is_ aware of these humans’ discomfort and is prepared to take steps to mitigate it. He steps back, therefore, to permit them entrance.

“So,” says Jim, who appears to be testing Spock’s bed for bounce, “is it gonna keep growing if we keep you all het up? I mean, I’m not a total size queen or anything—”

McCoy makes a loud and disbelieving sound.

“—but you’ve gotta admit that would be pretty damn cool.”

“There is no data at this time,” Spock says. “Now how may I assist the two of you, or did you come here to join me in meditation?”

“Meditation, huh? Well, I suppose we _could_ do that. But I’d much rather suck your cock. Bones can join in too, if he’d like.”

“Gee, thanks, Jim, that’s real—”

“Captain, in its tumescent state, the organ in question has reached twenty-one centimetres, and in girth approximately—”

“What, you think I can’t suck a twenty-one centimetre cock? Man, I _live_ for this stuff. Bet you I can get it all the way down, too.”

Spock opens his mouth to offer conversions into other units—he understands that Kirk’s people resisted decimal units of measurement for a considerable period—but McCoy stops him with a wave of his hand.

“He’s right, Spock. Trust Jim to know his sexual limits. And I keep telling you, eight inches really isn’t all that huge, by Earth standards.”

Spock believes an appropriate translation of the doctor’s remark and tone would be more akin to “not unheard of” rather than “not uncommon”. He glances from the doctor to the captain. Who is nodding rapidly.

“I’ll let you measure mine, if you want.” He reaches for his crotch. Smiles. “Yeah, let’s all compare, why don’t we—”

“Jim, I’m not sure that Spock here wants—”

“‘Course, he does, look at him.”

“Anyway, who said that you’d get to be the one to—”

Not for the first time, Spock despairs of ever understanding humans. They seem to have frequent fits of utter incomprehensibility. “Gentlemen.”

Silence falls.

“While I might not be averse to the kind of interaction you propose—”

“Hear that, Bones? Not averse. Told ya.”

“—it would be logical to conduct yourselves in a more—”

“So how about I just go first, and then you can—”

Spock closes his eyes and shuts his mouth. His input does not appear to be required at this time, so he imagines himself in a picturesque forest glade instead, cataloging interesting species of wood pigeon.

“Shut it, Jim. Spock? Would you be so good as to enlighten me as to your refractory period?”

Spock opens his eyes so that he may raise an eyebrow effectively. He hopes this will prevent him from appearing overly sheepish. “Unfortunately, I require considerably longer than is normal for Vulcans to achieve a second erection after climactic release has been achieved.”

“And how long is that?” McCoy presses.

Spock stifles a sigh. “Almost two complete minutes, on average.”

From the bed, the captain can be heard to snicker. This does nothing to soothe Spock’s nascent embarrassment.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Spock. That’s really quite respectable, by human standards. And it means it’d be perfectly practical for us to take turns.”

The two humans look at each other. Kirk raises an arm, extends his closed fist towards the doctor. “Best of three?”

McCoy copies the posture. They shake their fists once, twice, thrice in unison, then open them to form different gestures.

“Rock blunts scissors,” the captain crows, leaping up to perform a short dance. “Tough luck, old man.”

They repeat the process. This time, the captain’s final gesture has changed, but the doctor’s has not. This, to judge by their changing facial expressions, is bad for the captain. Spock gathers they are now at a draw. They repeat, and this time both produce the same gesture.

“Um, best of five?” the captain suggests. “Or we could arm wrestle. Thumb war? Or—hang on, don’t I outrank you?”

McCoy lunges forward, fingers extended, claw-like, as if to pinch some part of the captain’s person, and Spock feels the need to intervene in what he predicts will otherwise become an outbreak of physical violence. He employs his greater strength to hold the doctor back.

“Gentlemen, your behaviour is unacceptable. You will desist at once or I shall eject you both from my home.”

Doctor McCoy gives the characteristic nasal inhalation and head toss which mean he has seen the error of his ways and is backing down. Spock releases him.

“Logically, uh, Spock,” McCoy says, stepping back so as to cease crowding Spock, “there would be a certain… justice… in permitting the person who first made the offer to go first. And I’ll point out that’s an offer I restrained myself from making for a considerable period while I continued to research the matter thoughtfully and tenaciously in my professional capacity.”

This does not meet Spock’s exacting standards for logic, but he is gratified that the emotional, generally irrational doctor has made such progress. “Very well, you may proceed.”

The captain mutters something. To Spock’s ear, it sounds like “some guys have all the luck”, but since nothing so capricious as luck has been in operation here, Spock dismisses the observation from his mind.

Doctor McCoy smiles. Then he kisses Spock, a quick smack of lips against lips which Spock supposes is intended to communicate gratitude. Then there are hands at his waistband, working to lower his uniform trousers. More than two hands. Kirk and McCoy seem to have mended their differences already in favour of cooperative enterprise. Spock allows himself to be undressed and guided back to sit on the edge of his standard issue mattress. Kirk clambers up behind him, wraps his arms around Spock’s chest, and begins to mouth one of Spock’s ears with apparent relish. Spock supposes the shape of the pinnae is of interest to the human owing to its novelty value in his experience.

McCoy has dropped to his knees on the carpet tiles and is staring at Spock’s gradually rising penis with an expression of considerable interest and enjoyment. When he glances up at Spock, his smile is crooked and his hands are wandering.

The sensation when he takes the tip of Spock’s penis into his mouth and begins to suck is what the humans might call “indescribable”. Spock is confident he _can_ describe it, if he only devotes sufficient mental energy to the task. Which he cannot, at present, hope to manage.

“Oh, fuck,” says Kirk. “Look at him suck you, Spock. See how he likes it? Come on, Bones, you can take more than that.”

Spock’s erection has reached optimal engorgement for penetration now, and McCoy angles his head to take more before beginning to bob, sucking hard all the while. The movements of his tongue against Spock’s glans are extremely effective at generating pleasure. Spock tells him so. McCoy starts laughing and has to pull off to recover. For reasons Spock cannot explain, the sensations are even more exquisite when McCoy resumes.

“Help you out a bit there, Bones,” Kirk says, reaching around Spock’s torso to lay a hand on McCoy’s head and guide him forward, further onto Spock’s cock. McCoy makes another hand gesture Spock does not understand.

“I do not believe the doctor appreciates your assistance, Captain.”

Kirk tweaks Spock’s right nipple, and Spock cannot quite contain his startled gasp. “It’s Jim. Remember? When it’s social interaction, not ship’s business, it’s Jim. This is _definitely_ not ship’s business, man.” And he bites down on Spock’s shoulder, apparently for emphasis. The sensation is sharp, but not unpleasant.

“I am aware that this is not, in fact, activity related to the smooth operation of a starship. _Jim._ However, I believe this very fact renders the decision of what I shall call you entirely my decision.”

“Oooh,” says Kirk, in a tone Spock cannot immediately identify. “Big scary Vulcan, aren’t you?”

Spock offers no answer, having been distracted somewhat from human illogic by the present demonstration of human suction.

“Doctor, I believe I shall achieve orgasm in approximately thirty-seven seconds.”

The doctor’s answer, coming as it does from an otherwise occupied mouth, is not comprehensible.

Spock’s orgasm is protracted, involving a greater than expected variety of muscle contractions and a brief episode of myotonia in the smaller toes of his left foot. It is extremely pleasurable and he cannot entirely hold back various vocalisations. These, however, are in his native language and therefore unlikely to be understood by either of his visitors.

“Well,” says the doctor, sitting back on his heels and dabbing delicately at his mouth with the cuff of a blue uniform sleeve, “that all seems to be working beautifully. You’ve got yourself a very fine piece of equipment there, Mister Spock.”

The captain is nibbling his ear again. Spock finds it more irritating now, and shakes him off.

“You are experiencing no discomfort, Doctor?”

McCoy rubs his jaw. He also grins. “Nothing wrong with a bit of discomfort, Spock. Now, do you want another blowjob, or would you rather have Jim on his hands and knees?”

“It is unlikely the captain would wish to subject himself to—”

“Oh, the captain wishes, Mister Spock, don’t you worry about that. But right now he’d rather have the opportunity to showcase his fellatio-ary talents, which are demonstrably superior to Doctor McCoy’s.”

Spock’s penis is already beginning to stir. The competition between the two humans is certainly… stimulating. “That would be acceptable,” he says.

The captain slithers down off the bed, and moments later is seated on his heels by Spock’s knee, side flush with McCoy’s.

“You could give a guy some room here, Bones.”

“Perhaps I want a real close-up view of this _superior_ technique of yours?”

Spock suspects that his failure to vacate the most convenient kneeling space has rather more to do with a plan to interfere with the captain’s efforts at a disagreeable moment, in retaliation for the captain’s earlier meddling.

Spock’s prediction is incorrect. McCoy attempts—with surprising success—to apply his mouth to Spock’s penis _during_ the captain’s ‘fellatio’ performance. The effect on Spock is… strangely piquant, and he opens his legs as wide as possible to afford the squabbling, saliva-sharing humans the best possible access. Periodically, as Kirk permits Spock’s penis to slip free of his mouth, the two men pause to kiss, in a passionate, even violent manner, before one or other of them swallows Spock’s penis down again. Spock wonders whether they are romantically involved, and how such a development might have escaped his notice.

“I fucking love your dick, man,” Kirk says dazedly, after he has swallowed Spock’s seminal emission.

At this point, Spock has two aroused human males on their knees at his feet, his obscenely large penis lying flaccid between his legs, and he has managed to devise no plan or strategy for how best to proceed from here.

“You know where to find me,” McCoy says, rising, “if you should find you need more… reassurance.” He seems hopeful that this will indeed be the case.

Kirk springs to his feet. “Night, Bones,” he says, his words unusually melodic, and seats himself in Spock’s lap.

McCoy’s movement towards the door is arrested, and Spock begins to foresee that this could be a very long evening indeed if he does not take decisive action.

“Good night, gentlemen,” he says firmly. “I believe I will retire now.”

Kirk frowns, but he goes. The last thing Spock hears before the doors swish closed behind his departing guests is the two men talking animatedly and at once.

***

The following evening, the captain enters Spock’s quarters from their shared bathroom shortly after the close of alpha shift, even though their regular chess game is not scheduled until 2100. Accordingly, Spock raises an eyebrow.

The captain smiles and approaches, his gait slow and oddly tense. He has exchanged his uniform attire for a tight-fitting white t-shirt and cotton trousers with a plaid print. He has eschewed footwear.

“Hiya, Spock. How’s it hanging?”

“Can I help you, Captain?”

Kirk sits on the end of the table at which Spock has been working to describe the unique morphological features of certain angiosperms collected on the _Enterprise_ ’s recent visit to Arklair IV.

“I just had some fun with the sonic shower’s enema attachment,” he announces conversationally, kicking his legs so that his feet drum against the drawer set beneath the table.

Spock’s other eyebrow twitches. “Fascinating,” he says, in his driest, least interested tone.

Kirk chuckles. “You crack me up, man. Whatcha working on?”

“Botany, Captain.”

“It’s _Jim_. When I’m in my pyjamas, it’s Jim.”

Perhaps McCoy will give Spock lessons in eye-roll technique? Spock feels the lack of this particular tool in his skill-set more keenly with each passing day. “Jim,” he repeats, obediently. “What do you want?”

Jim hands him several small items, which Spock quickly identifies as humanoid-compatible condoms and several species of lubricant in single-helping sachets. “I want you to fuck my ass with your enormous Spocky cocky, of course. It’ll be excellent.”

“You are an exceptionally outspoken individual. I believe my mother would have termed you ‘pushy’.”

Judging from his expression, Jim appears to regard this as a compliment.

“I do not wish to injure you, Jim.”

“You won’t. Honestly, Spock, I’ve been fucked loads of times. And some of those cocks were bigger than yours.”

Spock peers at him, trying to determine whether what he is hearing is the result of mere bravado. He does not like to accuse his captain of dishonesty or exaggeration. “Perhaps, if I were to ask the doctor to assist—”

“Kinky, Spock. Kinky.” He rubs his palms together rapidly. “You can make me suck him off while you’re pounding into me. It’ll be _spectacular_.”

Spock cannot immediately determine whether he is being _dared_ or _bluffed_. However, in either case he believes that having the doctor here, despite his manifold illogic, can only assist the sanity of the situation. He presses the appropriate button at his terminal. “Spock to Doctor McCoy.”

A pause. “McCoy here.”

“If you are not occupied with something of momentous import, Doctor, please report to my quarters. The captain wishes to…” the channel may be monitored. Spock attempts to dissemble without being dishonest. “…investigate my medical condition further.”

A significant pause. “On my way.”

It should take the doctor approximately two minutes to reach Spock’s quarters if he is coming from his department; point four six of a minute if he is en route from his own quarters.

The chime sounds twenty-one seconds later, and Spock rises to admit a flustered and unshaven McCoy.

The two humans promptly enter into a staring match. Spock finds this tedious and therefore attempts to make the most logical use of his time by resuming his botanical studies until the battle for dominance has been resolved.

“Spock’s gonna fuck my hot, tight, awesome little ass,” Jim announces abruptly, “while he makes me suck you off. That suit you?”

A pause.

“Does that suit Spock?”

Spock raises his head, and then an eyebrow. He is by no means opposed to pleasurable physical congress when available; it increases bodily efficiency in subtle but noticeable ways for days afterwards.

“Then it suits me just fine,” McCoy says.

***

It takes approximately seven point six four minutes for Spock to be satisfied that, yes, anal intercourse in his current condition appears to be not only non-injurious to his partner but also extremely enjoyable, and, yes, his current genital organ, despite its non-standard length and girth, is by no means deficient in its ability to deliver powerful and most satisfactory sensations. Also, the additional stimulation of being able to observe the captain engaged in the act of fellatio upon the doctor’s person during the aforementioned intercourse heightens Spock’s enjoyment of the entire scenario considerably. This is useful information, and Spock is gratified to have acquired it.

He squeezes the captain’s buttocks, watching his well-lubricated organ slide deeper into the tight orifice. Considering his concerns for the physical safety of anyone with whom he is intimate, he is somewhat unsettled by the unexpected strength of his desire to be forceful with Jim, to shift him so that he lies flat on the mattress, legs dangling over the edge so that Spock may effectively pin him down, pound into his human flesh hard and fast, to leave him gasping and tender and unable to forget for hours to come that Spock has claimed him. Perhaps, if the doctor is correct about the impact of male hormones on penis size and the evolutionary purpose of the same, his present desires may be understood as proceeding from either that cause or that effect?

“Hoo, boy, that’s good,” the doctor announces, in one of his hoarser tones. His head is thrown back, his kneeling body glistens faintly with sweat, and his hair is out of order. In short, he is the perfect picture of what humans call debauchery. Spock finds this gratifying, and has difficulty suppressing unexpected mental imagery of a scenario in which he and not Kirk causes the doctor to appear this way, in which McCoy and not Kirk must accept Spock’s overgrown organ into his body. He shakes off these thoughts in favour of extracting the full measure of enjoyment from his present circumstances.

Spock slides one hand down from Kirk’s temple to his cheek, permitting himself a brief sampling of surface thoughts and emotions. The captain’s approval of the current situation is absolutely unmistakeable. McCoy lays his hand on the captain’s other cheek, and Spock is put in mind of certain complex Vulcan mind meld rituals; the juxtaposition of these images of scholarly enterprise and temple-goers’ reflection with this very human species of passionate sexual encounter is piquant enough to amuse Spock into a small smile.

Abruptly, Kirk’s head is pulled forward and he utters a half-choked grunt. As Spock watches, McCoy begins to guide Kirk’s head in the precise movements he prefers, while simultaneously rocking his hips.

“That’s right, Jim. Take it. You like that, don’t you?”

The only answer is an indecipherable grunt and the sight of Kirk’s fingers tightening in the sheets.

“I believe he does, Doctor. However, his ability to communicate as much is somewhat limited at present.”

The doctor meets his gaze. His eyes are wild, his face flushed pink. “Such a goddamn _pity_ ,” he says, which Spock believes to be a misstatement of his feelings intended to produce a humorous effect.

Spock is distracted from his efforts to invent a satisfactory response by a powerful orgasm which curls his toes and makes him cry out and finish his copulation with Jim in three last, savage thrusts. The he reaches around to assist Jim to achieve release, and notes for the first time that Jim’s erect penis is also quite substantial. He will ponder that later. Perhaps his knowledge of human anatomy could use some improvement.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” cries the doctor, whose eyes are squeezed shut as he rocks his penis desperately into Jim’s mouth. “Good boy, good. Swallow it, _yeah_ …”

Afterwards, Spock is not sure he has ever before seen the captain so happy as he now becomes, lying languid on Spock’s bed complaining that he is incapable of movement at this time.

***

When Jim returns the following evening, he does not ask what Spock is working on. Instead, he removes his bathrobe and, naked, bends over the far end of Spock’s desk. He has once again brought lubricant and disease prophylactic devices.

It would be illogical to demand an explanation when none is required.

Spock removes his clothing. Jim spreads his legs. Spock prepares swiftly, and finds it easier to mount the human today than it was yesterday.

“God, yeah,” Jim says, gripping the table, as Spock slowly works his engorged penis in through the tight grip of the anus. “Fuck me good, Spock. Fuck me hard.”

Spock obliges.

This time, Jim does not require any direct stimulation of his penis in order to achieve orgasm. Spock finds this inexplicably pleasing, though he briefly wonders whether it will cause offence if he asks his captain to clean the spilled semen from his work surface.

After Spock, too, has experienced a highly satisfactory release, they disengage and deal with the detritus of their intercourse. Then Jim kisses him on the mouth before stepping back, donning his bathrobe once more, and smiling at Spock.

“That was awesome, man. You can bet I’ll be back, just as long as you’ll have me.”

Spock detects a definite “spring” in the human’s step as he departs.

***

The captain becomes a regular visitor to Spock’s quarters during their off-duty hours. They explore many pleasures together, and Spock is grateful for the opportunity. Yet he finds that his thoughts turn often to the doctor, who has been somewhat conspicuous by his absence. He does not believe it likely that McCoy would have tired of their sexual congress, but he is uncertain what other explanation to propose. The captain had not appeared to Spock to be behaving in a manner which could be termed intimidating. Perhaps the good doctor is merely busy with work?

***

To Spock’s relief, his unusual penis, having reached a final length of twenty-three point one centimetres, drops on schedule. He incinerates it with the appropriate ceremony, explains to an obviously disappointed, but philosophical, Kirk that his libido will be nonexistent until next year’s penis begins growing in some months from now, reports the date of dropping to the doctor, and settles down to enjoy his newly relaxed, penis-free state.

And still he misses Doctor McCoy. Spock does not understand this emotion, or why it is so difficult to suppress or escape, but it does not appear to be harmful and thus he sees no reason to be concerned. Instead, he decides to discover what effect spending some time with the Doctor might have on his emotional state.

“Howdy, Spock,” the Doctor says cheerfully, when Spock opts to take the seat adjacent to him in the officers’ mess at dinner. “How’re you doing?”

“I am well, Doctor.” He sees the human’s expression alter, and rethinks their circumstances. There is no one else at this table. It cannot hurt. “Leonard.”

This earns him a smile and a quick pat on the wrist which does not connect with skin and therefore does not result in the unfiltered transfer of thoughts.

“So, you inhale any good books lately?”

“At present, I am improving my knowledge of anthropology, specifically focusing on the importance of the male genital organ in human societies and cultures. I anticipate that this will aid in my understanding of the captain’s personal vernacular.”

Leonard snorts and waves his fork in a kind of salute. This leaves Spock feeling faintly warm, and he distracts himself by selecting and spearing a watermelon cube which he subsequently masticates carefully before swallowing.

“I’m still collecting polite, formal, condescending little brush-off letters from Vulcan healers I’ve consulted in regard to you know what. It’s getting kinda funny.”

Spock takes some moments to puzzle out this utterance. “The contrast of style and function of these missives amuses you?”

“You’re damn right it does. You Vulcans can be a tetchy bunch. Like wizened grandpas all lined up on the porch, bitching about _them kids today got no manners_.”

It is extremely illogical, but it would appear that Leonard McCoy is attempting a friendly overture—in the form of insults directed at Spock’s father’s entire species.

“Leonard,” Spock begins tentatively, compelled to speak his piece swiftly by the fact that the captain has just entered the mess, “would you be amenable to joining me in my quarters this evening for some form of social interaction? A game of chess, perhaps?”

Leonard frowns. “I don’t play,” he says carefully.

Spock is not discouraged. “Perhaps some other activity, then?”

Leonard looks quickly towards the captain, then back again. They understand each other, Spock gathers from subtle changes in the human’s expression. Leonard gives a short, emphatic nod, and swallows visibly. “I’ll pop along some time after dinner, okay?”

The captain has almost reached them with his heaping tray of minimally nutritious meal choices.

“That will be… most satisfactory,” Spock murmurs.

Leonard offers a shaky smile before lowering his head and beginning to dispose of what is left of his dinner in short order.

Neither of them mentions their plans to the captain, for which Spock is more grateful than is probably seemly.

***

They sip the traditional teas of their different regions while Spock explains the rules of a Vulcan educational board game to his guest. Gameplay involves the construction of protein representations from brightly coloured tiles, coupled with the recitation of facts related to the structure, function, prevalence, and common construction errors of each particular protein. It is thus eminently suitable for passing time with a man of medical background and insatiably curious temperament.

They play amicably for one hour, after which Leonard declines to play another round and instead leans back in his chair, folds his hands over his stomach, and gazes at Spock.

“So,” he says, “what’s it like not having a penis, if you don’t mind me asking?”

It would be illogical to mind. Nevertheless, Spock feels some definite awkwardness with regard to this topic. “It is my usual state,” he observes.

Leonard lifts an eyebrow. “Is it your _preferred_ state?”

Spock considers this and finds, to his surprise, that it is not. “I have recently begun to appreciate that there are certain advantages to possessing one even when one is not desirous of reproduction in the short-term.”

Leonard smiles. “Fascinating.” He looks away. “Jim does tend to have that effect on people.”

“You underestimate your own influence, Doctor.”

Leonard's breath catches, and he scans Spock’s face as if looking for what the captain calls “tells”. Then he lowers his head, and Spock notices the first traces of what may be a pink human blush upon his cheeks.

“I have missed your company, Leonard. The captain’s, though enjoyable in its own way, is no substitute.”

“That a fact?”

“It is. It is also a fact that there are many pleasurable activities we might undertake together which do not require that I possess a penis.”

Leonard looks up, then. He appears temporarily to have lost the power of speech. Spock does not worry that he may have offended, however; this is one of the most forthright humans he has ever encountered, and he does not doubt that Leonard McCoy would immediately protest any accidental insult or injury Spock might inflict upon him.

When he rises, Spock knows only an instant’s doubt before he registers that Leonard is moving towards him. A moment later, he finds himself with a lap full of warm, earnest human.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Leonard says, and kisses him.

***

Approximately three weeks after the formal initiation of a ‘romantic’ relationship between them, Spock lies abed as Leonard snores softly beside him. They have recently repeated the procedure whereby Leonard rubs and writhes his naked body against Spock’s until his human penis ejaculates, while Spock shares his pleasure through a minimally invasive mind-meld. It is a most satisfactory practice. Although Spock still considers what he told the captain to be essentially correct—that his libido will be absent until the arrival of next year’s penis—he has lately found that his own emotional responses when a sexual encounter is proposed are extremely, and unequivocally, positive. He does not doubt that, in due course, he will welcome the return of his set-mor lok.

Spock is counting himself down towards sleep when he registers a faint tingling sensation in his pubic region. He turns his full attention inwards for a moment, focusing intently on the condition of his various bodily systems. Yes, growth is definitely beginning. It is much, much sooner than anticipated, but Spock finds this merely surprising and not unsettling. He is certain there will be no complaints voiced about the unconventional timing.

Spock pulls Leonard closer against him, permitting himself a small smile as he drifts off to sleep.

 

 

***END***

  
**Glossary:**

 _lok-sval farr_ \-- penis-blossom time

 _set-mor lok_ \-- deciduous penis


End file.
